Subliminal
by WeLcOmE2pArAdIsE
Summary: An emotionally repressive avenger, an amnesiac medic, and a boy hellbent on trying to put the pieces back together. But is he doing it for their sake, or for the deep rooted affection that never really left? [SasuSaku][NaruSaku]
1. Rouge ::

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. They belong to a greater person than I. But this plot --clutches-- ish mine.

It came to me late one stormy night, of course. Ignore the cliche. I'll continue if people really like it, but if people don't I'll still do it I guess...just not right away. It's not high on my priority list, what with SDLIN and the Shrine Contest, so if you want to grovel at my feet go ahead, but this won't be updated once a week like my normal fics, so...

Oh, one more thing...please don't insult me by choice of pairing or ask me to pair up so and so at the end, 'cause I won't do it.

Neh, just review please. Oh, and read it, of course.

* * *

**Subliminal**

_Naru/Saku and Sasu/Saku_

_--_

**Prologue: Rouge**

**--**

_And we fight together (apart), me and you...but her heart is one and we are two. Who does our angel belong to? Me or you?_

_--_

Rouge.

Delightfully French in origin.

Red–

What she is drowned in right now, so beautifully.

Decorating a being that floats about the tatami floors in a sensual glide of happiness.

Red.

Seductively hugs every curve, not too tight to appear raunchy and distasteful, for she would never be anything but perfection to them all; no, it floats and shimmers and shudders over porcelain slender shoulders. Skin is unblemished and untainted, stretched beautifully to move with her figure and positively shines beneath the veil–like shawl that covers those shoulders from cold. They insisted.

They demanded.

Rouge.

Applied on her already flawless visage, a shade, a tint, a highlight to bring out the natural beauty already present. After all, that is what such products are for, she had said many times. Bring out the natural beauty. Something black decorates each tightly curled eyelash, and then the eyes, _her_ eyes, seem to glow. Said eyes are jade, a color that they do not wear, do not see in nature, and really do not ever apply to anything else but her, as if she is the very definition.

She is the definition of a myriad of scattered things, each more palpable and yet truthful than the last.

Smiling.

She stares into the mirror with the unmistakably beaming visage of a girl, young yet feeling older as she applies just a finishing touch. Wanting to begin the night and hopefully end it right, and trying, desperately, to ignore what is happening around her.

Staring.

Red.

It streaks across her round cheekbones like the most faint splash of paint, beginning as something light that is almost invisible, then eventually deepening as the flush creeps up her neck and sends her heartbeat into a twisted dance, held over the fire and writhing as his eyes–

Red.

–stare into her with the rawest emotion. She can feel the angry heat, a boiling, clawing hatred originating from the deepest crevasses of his frozen heart. Shaking her head, she sets the rouge down lest her shaking hands let it slip into the sink and spread powder across the marble. It would be a mess.

--

_But we're all a mess...on the inside._

_--_

He clutches the doorframe abruptly, calloused fingers gripping so tightly that sharp cracks formed, like twisted spider webs as the noise resounds off the walls of the bathroom.

_I hate you. I hate you. I hate you._

She turns slightly, straightens her slender figure and tilts her head at him, smiling.

"Did you come to tell me the time?"

He does not breathe, he does not blink. "Hn." _I hate you._

Voice number three, commence.

"Sasuke–teme, what are you _doing_? You're bothering her, can't you see she's trying to get dress–"

Freeze.

Now they are both transfixed for so many, many reasons. First, isn't it terribly obvious? She is dressed in something that not only compliments every God–given asset she was born with, everything seems to compliment all that she has _always_ possessed, and yet they never really took the time to notice. It takes a real slap in the face and a short–

–Red–

–dress to get attention. Secondly, the only reasons she had ever worn such things were for missions when she was (at the utter enragement of her teammates) required to play an older, a sexier, or even a downright_ raunchier _role than her age or demeanor would ever entail. She _always_ had a man with her; specifically, she always had one of her devoted teammates at her side. Yes, even the avenger was hopelessly devoted in his own little twisted way. Even he could not break or escape her captivating innocence that seemed to pull everyone she knew into a little dance of worship at her feet.

Third...

She was _theirs._

Ask the blonde; she was his best friend and he, hers, and they had been together for so many years and finally established a friendship with a bit _less_ physical beating.

Ask the other; she was a bit annoying but she was still his teammate, and yeah, she had done a lot for him but he had never _asked_ for it. They were getting better, or at least, he stopped flinging plates of food at her when she asked him to eat.

Both of them tended to lie. No, maybe not lie, but definitely downplay as often as they could.

They loved her as a friend. A teammate. Nothing more.

Red.

The color of her face after she finished screaming at them for behaving like little children. The color of her apron that she wore when she made them dinner after those long, tedious missions when they came stumbling home in the dark.

Heels. Cheeks. Shawl. Lips. Dress. _Red_.

The blonde had the decency to look away, down at the slightly damp tile, moist from her steaming shower that she had spent the better part of an hour in from sheer excitement. Excitement?

Or maybe because she knew how angry they both were. The blonde was more disappointed than anything, but the raven–haired avenger was positively furious, made all the more obvious when he had paced around during her shower and kicked at cupboards, rearranged objects on the dining room table, and shouted at their mentor. Demanding time and time again, _who–the–hell_ was taking her to dinner, _why–the–hell_ they were going when it was so dark, as if dinner dates were unusual for nighttime. His teammate had yelled at him to shut it, since it was Sakura–chan's decision, and she was intelligent, she could handle this. Of course, the blonde had made sure to disguise the hurt in his voice.

Their teammate.

Their friend. More like a sister than anything.

With someone else.

And it really was unfathomable; another man's hands on their Sakura. At least, they hoped not. The blonde had muttered fairly loudly, "If he touches..." All that was needed. While his rival did not necessarily condone anybody touching her, he nodded in agreement. Agree to disagree.

Gone.

A few hours was a lifetime. She would be looked at by some other man, hold hands with some other man, talk with and laugh with and drink with and entrust her life with _some other man _and

_**I** don't like it._

_--_

_This little flower, she blossomed and then_

_Implanted herself in my heart once again_

_Our hearts were the same_

_So broken and bruised_

_Together, apart_

_We are rivals confused._

_--_

Now the blonde was blushing and stammering at her choice of dress. "Y–you...look...erm...Sasuke, quit _staring_ at her like that!"

Conduct yourself with some decency, introverted little bastard! Or not. Nah. He doesn't get very many chances, except when he wins the ever–classic argument of, when dining with important lords or taking on an exceptionally challenging undercover assignment. Classic. Tall, dark, and undoubtedly handsome. He plays the possessive husband almost too perfectly.

Of course, for the cute, everyday seemingly meaningless, mundane chores...shopping, laundry and other assorted errands that the pretentious bastard has no tolerance for, that is the blonde's job. The little helper that still enjoys following her footsteps, trailing behind and earning a ruffle of the hair or a peck on the cheek for his generosity. Little actions that reduce the other to primal, infuriating jealousy of the lowest and most powerful kind.

Struggling.

They want to make it work, but deep down they know it will not. She always says she doesn't know how she would _ever_ live without her boys. Being on common ground sets them further apart than she will ever know, than they will ever realize.

--

_Wind ripples across this common ground..._

_Meant to bring together_

_reduces us to opposite sides_

_Crumbles this fragile friendship to exist with the dust._

_--_

Anyway, back to our quiet little avenger...his mind is particularly wild in this current moment, what with his sharp, intense gaze memorizing every delicious curve to remember later when he will pace the floor and pretend he didn't even notice what she had left the house in. What she was wearing, where she was going. He will not sleep. Neither will the blonde, and they will sit and huff and stare and wonder aloud (or perhaps read each other's minds; they are fairly good at that) and worry, but not speak.

Sit and hate the other for everything they believe is not in their possession, yet everything they believe will one day be theirs.

Now they are both silent and staring, eyes wide like a child staring at an object they know is strictly forbidden, but of course they will look and not touch for as long as their curiosity and will holds against it.

"He'll be here soon, Sakura," her mentor says cheerfully, smiling warmly as he surveys her outfit choice. "You look very nice."

She returns his smile. "Oh, Kakashi–sensei." He leaves, greatly amused at his former students' behavior as they attempt to shake themselves free from the convoluted vines that have left them twisted inside, around each other and this girl they consider everything.

Rushing. Hiding. Pretending.

Leaving the bathroom hurriedly, colliding with each other and the doorframe with spinning minds as they now stumble down the stairs, for the hour is nearing and they will assume their positions in the living room, like angry waiting parents.

Only they want her for themselves.

--

_Like hungry jackals we wait in silence_

_Ready for this gruesome _

_Cross–examination. _

_Scare off competition _

_To come back to the real one._

_--_

Mentor is in his favorite chair, letting the two young men deal with the introductions and the curfew and the typical threats. But for some reason the arguments are with each other instead of toward her soon–to–arrive date...

"Sakura–chan is smart, Sasuke, give her credit!"

"Hn. Ten."

"Ten–thirty."

"Ten."

"Eleven?"

"Not a chance."

"Eleven, damn it!"

"...Ten–forty–five. Not a second later."

Surveying them over a book of his preferred and quite usual read, the aging sensei is truthfully exhausted with the argument already, which is ranging from curfew to how many drinks she is allotted (apparently she isn't very tolerant of liquor) to if they will allow, if the time came, to permit her date to leave her with a kiss. The latter, frankly, has been dismissed quickly as if the topic had never existed. They can't bear to think of it.

The man clears his throat and takes his eyes off his book for only perhaps half a second. "Do you really think Sakura will just go along with both of you dictating what she can and can't do?"

Unanswered.

"Fine, ten–forty five. But you can tell her that, not me. I just want to make sure she's not too cold," the blonde said, glancing at the clock. "That dress–"

"A real gentleman will give her his jacket," the avenger mutters quietly. He hates this 'date' already. He has no idea who he is, but since when does that ever matter to him? Speak of a time. He's allowed to hate whomever he pleases without a discernable, logical reason. And anyway, if she was ever cold, there was always a certain black jacket that would find its way around her slender shoulders.

As if the blonde could read his friends mind of his little guilty pleasure, he glares at him with piercing cerulean eyes.

Momentous fate...

**KNOCK**.

Uncoordinated and unplanned, shinobi are quite useless in battle if not completely prepared for all circumstances and inevitabilities. Therefore, throwing themselves at the door and effectively knocking each other to the floor and engaging in a grudge match is quite ineffective when the goal at the end is the simply task of turning a knob and uttering a somewhat polite greeting.

Running on light feet and cloud nine and all the happiness she's always deserved...

They look up from the floor (the blonde makes sure to roughly elbow his companion for raising an eyebrow as he edged his head slightly; the angle is too perfect to miss up the obnoxiously–in his opinion– short dress.) and immediately jump to nimble feet to hopefully cover the embarrassment.

She knew they would act unreasonable and overprotective, and she swiftly drags her date over the threshold with a hurried goodbye and not a single look back. Sasuke growled one last time at their backs while Naruto finishes the hasty 'interview' with a tremendous pronouncement.

"–And if you break her heart, I'll break your _neck_!"

They hover, transfixed in the doorway and watch their silhouettes recede into the darkness with narrowed eyes, swelling chests and words on the tip of their tongues they will not say. For Kakashi's gaze settles on the backs of their heads, a warning that they try to withstand.

They stare at each other for a long moment with set shoulders and thin lips, then turn in unison to attempt to cross the threshold at the same time...

Red.

And Kakashi watches with a slightly amused and slightly pitiful gaze, glancing at the clock in spite of himself before letting his eye settle on the book, ignoring their fight. After all, it's been happening so often lately.

Too often for comfort...

--

_But her heart is one and we are two_

_I want her to myself, and that I can't do._

_Wrestle like animals to the blood–soaked floor_

_Make waves in this friendship _

_We cannot endure_

_His._

_Mine._

_**Ours.**_

--

* * *

Familiarity... 

Stings. A wound to the heart and raw, untainted soul.

Sadly souls are never untainted, they only wish to be so.

They stir in their chairs opposite each other, across the floor facing the other, ends of sharp branches composing the most horrid music to soothe uncomfortable and worried men. Shroud in darkness the raised eyebrows, the vacant stares at the shadows across the floor and glares at each other, as though it is the severe breach of unwritten rules. _You _let her go, the blonde says with an accusing tone. Worried about Sakura–chan, he adds under his breath. The avenger retorts with a low blow and a truer statement, "_You_ let her stay out later. Idiot."

His insult rolls off a hunched back with seemingly little effect, but it really does hurt as they listen to the wind sing unearthly pitches and rattle the eaves, reminding them of the presence that just is not there. A pain that keeps on hurting.

Giggles.

They leap to feet, born ready, and elbow each other as they take their places at the door. The blonde seems ready with a small smile to disguise his dismay at the fact that her giggles are so cute, innocent, and genuine. Those giggles are meant for them, to be heard by his–their–ears, and the smile she is surely showing that lucky guy at this moment is meant for _them_, to brighten _his _(The blonde corrects himself once more: Theirs.) Dark eyes glittering like a sated animal flicker from the door, where laughter is still heard (that sends his heart throbbing with suppressed jealousy; god damn, could the guy really be _that_ funny? Not likely,) and back to his companion, who seems as eager as him to barrage with prying questions.

Laughter stops. Abrupt.

Cut off by the unmistakable sound of his lips upon hers, caressing and tasting and oh god, they can't handle that–

Her quiet, throaty moan of ecstasy sends sickening waves of primal emotion through both of their bodies as they stand, framed in such pure moonlight that creates an effective taste of bitter irony to clash with the incident. Leaves them stock–still and rigid as the most ancient statues. Whomever that man was, he was kissing her so beautifully and wonderfully and tasting the innocence that they treasure in their girl. Kissing her with him, hearts full of envy and lips tasting the very same thing.

--

_We cannot see _

_But we know._

_Stealing. Ripping. Tearing. _

_Innocence,_

_the epitome of,_

_Stolen._

_Whom does she belong to?_

_--_

She is not ready.

Screams of two startled beings echo and clash in pitch and tone with each other, and milliseconds seem to pass fleetingly, a cannonade–

On the other side of the door they remain frozen–

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK–

And it does not end.

When the blonde snaps to reality and lunges for the handle, he rips it open and the hellish sounds cease, and they know...whatever it was...was gone.

Too late.

The door swings open and–

--

_Oh look! See?_

_Delightfully pretty._

_We both agreed to disagree..._

_She was pretty in that dress._

_--_

THUNK.

The sound does not suit her at all: She is graceful and innocent and lighthearted and so terribly carefree; nevertheless, her body does not mesh well with the sound, and yet it is hers.

"Sakura–chan!" Babble from a mouth open in shock. "Sakura–chan!"

Now he notices the glinting points that pin her date to the door, piercing flesh, blood and ivory bones to hang him up like a decoration, and the fresh stench of viscid red is splattered on the wood and on the body, of course, and on the doorstep and it's too much...

And yet she is still so pretty, even with her limbs twisted grotesquely beneath her fallen form and her torso bent bizarrely at the waist, jade eyes dulling as they stand and waste precious seconds in the darkness. She bleeds profusely onto the tatami floor that she had complained about cleaning just that typical morning, oh, what a mess.

"Sakura! Sakura! Sakura!" A chant, a voice that cracks so loudly and wretchedly that once the word is spoken so many times, it does not mean anything anymore. "Sakura!"

One two many times, it has been said. She coughs abruptly, body writhing upon the cold floor and blood expelling him her lips; the rouge is smudged; droplets land on her own porcelain face, the white visage of this charming girl.

Violently shaking.

As if she is touching both of the boys, they now fall into a rhythm of uncontrollable shakes that will not and cannot be quelled.

Surprise number two.

**THUNK**.

The blonde stares; the raven–haired boy has fallen to his knees in the steadily growing puddle with a look that he has never seen before, not like this...

And he screams.

Intelligible, yet saying everything. A torrent of lilting pitches that were raw emotion. What _could_ he say, anyway? He usually had nothing to speak of, he preferred silence and actions than unnecessary words.

The blonde is transfixed, horrified, stunned. Growls. Frustrated roars. Exasperated sighs, grunts, a syllable or two if it's a good day.

But he doesn't ever hear him scream...not ever, and certainly not like this.

"KAKASHI!" Help. Please. Help. That's all he wants.

The blue–eyed boy jerks and cowers as though shot and continues to mutter her name, and now it's nothing... "Sakura. Sakura. Sakura."

Ugh, kill the chant, it's useless.

The avenger sits silently in her blood and closes his mouth tight after his outburst. Hurrying footsteps echo, mockingly slow, signaling help that is just too late.

The strangled cry echoes...a milestone, a turning point, a realization.

They sit. They stare. They radiate hate...

_Because it's** your** fault._

_--_

_And I know this truth now_

_Too obvious to disguise_

_I feel just like you,_

_When she looks in my eyes._

_But that feeling..._

_It's supposed to be mine._

_His. Mine. Ours._

_**Mine**._

_--_

Rouge.

Meant to cover up and still delightfully French in origin.

Red.

What she is drowned in right now, so beautifully.

--

_And here it goes..._

_Downhill we fall for her_

_Pitted against the other._

_You weep now?_

_This is only the beginning._

_--_

And her heart is one and _we_ are two...

* * *


	2. Damage ::

I know, the beginning's slow and boring but by the end of this chapter I think you'll like it more. This present tense is a bitch. But it sounds better. Please read and review, the usual.

* * *

Chapter 1: Damage

--

_It seems the most innocent are always the ones to lose._

_To fall._

_Maybe there__** is**__ a reason..._

_--_

**BEEP**.

Static.

"Haruno Sakura's condition is stable, Tsunade–sama."

"Excellent. Hold for further instructions."

Four individuals stand silently, in similar and yet very different ways; from the outside looking in, you would think they were all reduced to stunned and absolute hush. Certainly not the case: One stands behind her desk, conversing over the towering piles of unchecked paperwork and empty sake bottles and assorted bookish items scattered about with the former jounin responsible for Team seven. A unique team that has always stood out and chosen to do so quite amiably, perhaps with a bit of _over_confidence if we dare say. Abilities almost outdoing the ones of others with positively stampeding colors they admit, if asked, they are not normal.

The two boys formerly placed on the squad (but, remaining so close to be called a family, they often pretend they still are; Tsunade continues to place them on missions with each other as she does with many teams) always bicker about everything under the sun, no matter how petty and foolish it is. Out–eating, out–yelling, outlasting, as long and as often as they could. Thankfully their girl could knock some sense into them most of the time...

All of them, including her dear sensei, wish she was here to keep the peace this day.

"Her condition is stable," the Hokage repeated, knowing perfectly well they can hear. She only receives acknowledgment from the towering jounin standing in front of her desk: The blonde Kyuubi vessel grumbles under his breath and barely contains his anger by keeping his fists clenched at his sides, cerulean eyes glowering at the floor as if it had done him a great personal wrong. He does not answer his superior and nor does the avenger, although that is expected. He doesn't enjoy unnecessary conversation, and surely now, with so many thoughts running through his mind, he has no desire to speak.

Dark locks providing a shameless curtain, his eyes are hidden from questions and from prying gazes; _and how do you feel?_ Anger. There is nothing else to say. _I'm furious, and you have no idea._

"However, there are a few things we must...erm...clear up before I can let you see her." Tsunade speaks with only slight hesitation, for while she is forceful and blunt with her words she can see and feel the distress radiating from each male, and she accepts their narrowed gazes.

Naruto folds his arms and stomps loudly across the wooden floor, every step asking, _Why? Why? Why her?_ Throwing himself into the hardbacked chair, he holds his breath, ready to lose his temper on the first person to rub him the wrong way. While his temper is well–deserved, it will be the thing to set them all off. Kakashi firmly puts a hand on Naruto's shoulder, warning him not to speak.

"Sasuke. Sit."

Arms also folded loosely, almost nonchalantly across his chest, he leans his hip against the protruding windowsill and ignores the man, head turning away to gaze out ever so slightly.

"Sasuke."

The name is spoken, nearly spat; even Tsunade watches Kakashi carefully for the temper that he rarely shows, the temper that rests calmly beneath the bubbling surface. It is withheld, abstained. For now.

Naruto begins to shake.

Tsunade gently (gently for her, anyway; there was only a small dent) presses her fist into the surface of the desk, the tone of her voice a warning. "Uchiha–"

"SASUKE–TEME, I SWEAR I'LL–"

He lets out a fierce stream of insults and curses that drown out Tsunade's reprimand and Kakashi closes his eyes for patience that he just may not possess.

--

_The touchiest subjects..._

_Forbidden, unreached topic of choice._

_His. Mine. Ours._

_Member number three._

_--_

Sasuke turns his head slightly, staring at his teammate through the coldest, most intense slit of onyx; the only sign of his anger (for he also chooses and succeeds to remain stoically indifferent to everything) is the tiniest, minuscule muscle. _Twitch. _Careful, now. You cannot provoke the anger without rising to meet it head on.

"–ACTING LIKE NOTHING'S HAPPENING–"

Twitch. Adults choose not to intervene, and the atmosphere is positively crackling with electricity on both ends, and when the other boils over...

Kami save anyone in their way.

"–ACTING LIKE YOUR TYPICAL _UNEMOTIONAL_ SELF!"

**SCHING**.

Unsheathed with anger and the beautifully refined skills of stealth, of subtlety, of all that is an enraged Uchiha. Kakashi remains still because he is already quite sure how this will end, and Tsunade lets out a strangled cry while Naruto puts up his hands, unready, to shield himself–

The blonde stares down the point of a sharpened, polished kunai and lets out a low curse under his breath. The dark–haired shinobi has not moved save his outstretched, muscular arm, fingers spread apart and shaking only slightly as he continues his stubborn control upon the weapon, held in place by the bloody gaze of the Sharingan. Now the light catches the nearly undetectable chakra string that is connected, imperceptibly, to the handle.

Beads of sweat, visage flushes with embarrassed and angry blood, the blonde steps back and swats at the weapon; Sasuke jerks it out of his reach and smirks, twitching his wrist amiably to snap the weapon back to his outstretched fingers. With the sound of skin clasping metal, Naruto's lips twist into an angry pout and with Kakashi staring down he throws himself into the chair once again, but not before granting the avenger a rude hand gesture. Both hands are needed for emphasis.

Crimson glare fading, so onyx orbs narrow against the overcast gleam from outside. The weapon is in his pocket with his hand, and he allows himself a pretentious little laugh for his cleverness and turns away once again. Same positions as before, just following different emotions, different words.

"Knock it off," Tsunade snaps, an ugly grimace twisting her features. She hates when people act so irrationally; it was one thing to be angry, they have every single right, but the feelings, the emotions that shinobi must learn to suppress come into play just too much. "Stand if you must, Uchiha, but you _will _answer my questions...brat..."

"And of course, Mr. Mighty Uchiha _stands_, the stubborn–"

Naruto angrily bats away a stapler that has come whistling toward his head. And _she_ talks about controlling tempers. The other boy does not acknowledge her quiet remark at the end; he does not really care, at least not about what people think of him.

Staring out the window, the demeanor so very obvious from body language and gaze:_ Fuck off._

"From the beginning. Why was Sakura out at this time of the night?"

Naruto opens his mouth but is cut off. Expected.

"She had a date," Kakashi says, calmly and collectively, four simple words that immediately make the boys tense. _Date._

Tsunade nods in understanding. Incredulously, Naruto throws his hands out and lets his mouth fall open as if she was supposed to be in shock at this news.

"Understandable. Curfew, none?" Tsunade's pen taps against the clipboard as she fills out the required report; eyes are saddened and pitiful. Poor Sakura, her poor student. They do not know the half of it, the extent of her injuries. The repercussions.

A fleeting glance. Glares are exchanged, hate a visible form taking leaps and increasing bounds as it mounts with each second, and no reasons are needed.

"I believe our final decision was ten forty five. Not a second later," Kakashi adds hastily, remembering the petty conversation from the night before that does not seem so terribly unimportant anymore.

"She arrived home on curfew?"

"To the minute. Sakura is punctual, never late."

"Unlike you," Tsunade jibes flatly, this normal joke a vain attempt to make the rest of their lives seem the same. "Then?"

"The boys were both awake–"

"Kakashi–sensei, don't talk about us like we're not here–"

"And I was in the den. At about ten fifty–five I heard..."

Kakashi trails off tersely and glances at Sasuke, whom is still at the window and silent; nonexistent, his breaths do not even create sounds as they travel through his slightly flaring nostrils or his lungs, so cold and still. Kakashi had never heard the sound before, had never heard his student scream in such a way...

Guttural, panicked, thoughtless and piercing.

Sasuke's body goes rigid as Kakashi says, "Sasuke called me to the front door...Naruto was on my left and the door was wide open, Sakura's date pinned with kunai to the door, obviously dead. Sasuke was on the floor, kneeling–"

"Blood," he whispers hoarsely.

All heads whirl to stare at his now hunched form; he taps his white knuckles on the clear glass and seems to ignore them, everything around him as his dark eyes are fixated on nothing. Perhaps searching around the hallowed corridors of his own mind, trying to find the explanation that proved the reason why.

Discipline, order, evidence; no spontaneity. Basic principles of not only Sasuke's conduct, but Uchiha conduct in general. This incident was, for some reason, desperately hanging in a balance, scales poised to tip. Lack of sense and lack of basic, fundamental reason.

All in the vicinity jump as his fist slams upon the wood, features set in frightening stone; while he has less punch than Tsunade, the anger is so clear and blatant that it keeps the others wary. It is not normal for him to show the anger he possesses.

"So...much.._.blood_."

Searing; repressed memories flash in his mind and his breath is caught in his throat. Naruto's glare softens a bit, but when Sasuke turns and glares at the blonde once again, they radiate hate. It continues.

"Ten forty five was _too late_."

"Time doesn't matter!" Naruto says belligerently, nearly rising from his seat.

"From what I can gather," Tsunade begins, glaring at both of the boys in turn, "–She was already a target by then. It has been happening to girls within the Kohona city limits, including a few from the nearby villages."

"But it has not happened to a kunoichi, just simple peasants," Sasuke spits, glaring at his white knuckles and ignoring (as usual) the shocked faces that are seen at the callousness of his words. That is all they are to him, peasants and simple people. Sakura is priority. A teammate. She matters more. "Whoever it was...attacked her when she was unguarded and unarmed, unprotected."

A desolate silence falls, and he hangs his head lower to hide his eyes; they are closed. Skin stretches over bared and gritted teeth as he mutters, "Fucking coward."

"Sakura–chan would have wiped the floor with them if–"

"Shut _up_, Naruto."

Naruto opens his mouth in offense and Tsunade barks, "Uchiha! Unnecessary language!"

"It doesn't matter what 'could have' happened. She got hurt, and we can't change that. Saying 'if' doesn't mean anything and doesn't _do_ anything. So _shut–up_."

"I'll–"

Kakashi swiftly raps Naruto upside the head and mutters for him to shut his mouth, but no, his anger burns too much. The blonde yells back: "You don't have the _right_ to say _anything_, damn it!" Pointing a finger at the avenger, his eyes narrow and flash with dedicated intensity, the loyalty he has. Sasuke manages to pull off his appraising, superior look, raising his eyebrow and slamming his clenched fist, once again, on the wood.

They are on their feet now, glaring in such passionate hate and they remember...

* * *

_How was he able to pace in such gentle silence, wholly contradicting his true motives? _

_How was I able to sit there and pretend that this incident did not shatter me to the very core, that I could somehow put on the graciously infallible demeanor? That I was really okay and that I would be the resilient, good little boy they wanted me to be?_

_And how could that admirable, spiteful man...the man that I vied and struggled to be, so unconsciously, and yet whom I hated with an unexplainable passion, pace that way? Like he was simply waiting for news that he could wait seconds and hours and days for without batting an eyelid or ceasing his pace, in tune with the same steady tune of everything else. Like it didn't bother him in the slightest._

_But I knew it was all an act...I knew him better than that, even if he would never admit it. Kakashi–sensei warned me, because he knew too. Dare to rub him the wrong way and even begin to contemplate to ask how he felt, like some psychiatrist with a record player for a voice box and a tone of voice that grated the already sensitive nerves. Don't try to understand him. _

_Driving me crazy! Back and forth with his pacing and his even footsteps and rhythm and his stupid face, so impassive and so fucking unemotional I want to beat it into the nearest whitewashed wall and ask him with every slam: Do? You? Have? A? Soul?_

_It continued. Step, step, step, step, a millisecond of pause before he turned and resumed the beat, the trek across the same damn sea–green tile and I swear eventually there'll be a hole in the floor._

"_Excuse me?"_

_Her voice was light and tentative; she faltered slightly as Sasuke halted his unnerving steps and fixed the little nurse with a fierce glare of hatred that he usually reserved for people of more importance. Of more worth._

"_A–are you all waiting for a Miss..." Nervously consulting her list, avoiding the dark–haired shinobi's gaze as he breathes heavily, an animal stalking prey. The little, defenseless prey has no help and is a victim for no reason other than because. "A–a miss Haruno Sakura?"_

"_Sakura–chan," I breathed, and all eyes flickered toward me for a moment before fixing upon the doomed rabbit, the prey. _

"_Yes, well, I apologize profusely, but I'm a–afraid–" Her stutters become frequent and more articulate as she quakes under Sasuke's furious stare. "S–she is still in critical condi–condition and that it's impossible for her to have visitors–"_

"_What exactly," Sasuke interjected coldly, folding his arms across his slightly swelling chest; eyes like spotless saucers stared up at the towering figure. "–Is her condition?"_

"_She said critical," Kakashi murmured, letting his book fall shut and stowing it carefully in his pocket. _

_I couldn't keep myself from asking, though I knew the answer; for no other reason than to voice it and make it true: "Critical?"_

"_Not good."_

_Sasuke's scream had been a shock, but what he did next, I could say scared me more than anything I had see in a very long time._

_His powerful arm could have easily knocked the small nurse to the floor, but he swept it just close enough to knock the clipboard out of her hands and onto the tile, the obnoxious clatter piercing through the calm atmosphere, the serenity that should always be in the hospital._ _Papers were loosened from the metal clasp and rose quickly, only to fall like delicate white doves to the sea–green squares that were so clean I could see my white, frightened reflection in them._

_Before I'd really thought I'd leapt forward and grabbed him around the waist, dragging him away from the poor nurse: Her mouth was open in a small round 'o' and it reminded me of Hinata's gaze, just a little, when she saw something that reduced her to silence. Well, more silence than usual. He wasn't resisting, just hiding behind his curtain of dark hair and already turning away, jerking his tall, lean figure from my grasp and stalking toward the row of chairs along the white wall. Where people read magazines or cried or talked on phones or just sat quietly._

_Where people waited...for their lives to fall apart._

_Kakashi apologized to the nurse and spoke in a low, calming voice to find out the details of Sakura's condition, but I was frozen at the sight of Sasuke lowering himself roughly into a chair. There was this strange 'whoosh!', some hole somewhere in the cushion. Normally I would have found it funny. _

_Resting his knees on his elbows, his 'brooding' pose that he assumed everywhere in his superior way. I yearned to tell him off and call him a few choice words for acting like a complete asshole to the little, nice nurse, but somehow I couldn't find it in my heart to do so. _

_And certainly I couldn't do it now, as he let his chin fall off his interlocked fingers and then the fingers came apart yet together, as if cupping water. _

_Then his face was in his hands, hiding everything._

_Happened so fast I couldn't believe it._

_He didn't cry though, he never would do a thing in front of any of us like that. _

_Sakura was the only one he'd ever cry in front of. _

_White and shaking fingers pressed against his equally pale forehead, nails digging with such helplessness._

_He just sat there in silence, hiding his face and his glowering onyx eyes and maybe, wishing he could curl up and pretend it wasn't happening._

_Well, I don't know, that's how__** I**__ felt._

_No, he just didn't listen, didn't cry, didn't speak, and if I'd known better I could almost say he didn't like he was breathing either._

_But it just hurt so much to see._

* * *

Minds are of one thought while they see every second and every action play out, the feature presentation. The breeze: flitting in and out and dancing over the threshold of the only open window, behind Tsunade's desk and trying in vain to uplift each and every mood. 

Is to no avail.

_We want her __**now.**_

"Kakashi," Sasuke inquires sharply, simultaneously demanding and pleading for his desired answers. "She is stable." He states this firmly and there is no question.

Kakashi raises his eyes to his superior, whom is silent for only a moment before touching the microphone in her ear underneath her blonde locks.

"Tsunade–sama?"

"Haruno Sakura's condition, please."

"One moment."

A flurry of static sounds over the microphone as the receptionist muffles the sound but they are still able to hear: The hurried clicking off white heels on the tile, constant shuffling of the never–ending influx of mandatory paperwork, wretched cries of despair among other disturbing sounds. It is a hospital, after all.

"Still stable, if barely, but..."

The hesitancy of the receptionist is obvious and now all three members of team seven...heads rise to lock on their Sannin's hazel eyes, wide and reluctant. She waves them away and turns her back upon them as they are rigid in posture, waiting with baiting breath; a simple flick and now the words are spoken to Tsunade's ear directly. Sasuke nervously twitches as he keeps his eyes fixed on her back, narrowed, most likely wishing for her to turn around. He does not breathe.

Can you blame him?

Naruto pleads silently to himself...for all of their sakes.

Tsunade's tone is one of stammering shock. "...I s–see. Thank you."

She removes the microphone and turns, setting the tiny instrument of technology upon the desk with heavy–lidded eyes, avoiding their intrusive faces, craving answers. Now none of them dare utter a breath for fear of the worst, of what is in store for their dear teammate...and for themselves.

"Sakura..." Tensing muscles. Breaths hitch in swollen throats. Imaginations depict in the silence what shall befall, the unknown outcomes. "...Is awake and her condition is stable and will remain that way–"

Her words break off abruptly as a loud snapping noise balloons drowns them with it's piercing interruption. Eyes settle on Sasuke, whose arms shake slightly as he folds them across his chest once again, emotional defense. He cracks his fingers in nervous habit but muffles the sound, pressing them between his chest and elbows, and acts as though it was nothing.

"So Sakura–chan is...okay?" Naruto asks in a hushed voice, trying to disguise how he sweeps the back of his hand across his boyish, cerulean eyes, as if he can say he was relieved.

"Ahm...you could say that," Tsunade says tentatively, the truth sketched across her youthful face, an incriminating giveaway. Kakashi shoots her a fleeting look but the damage is done as Sasuke slowly unfolds his arms, lowering his head to look up at her through his curtain of ebony locks.

"_Liar_."

Tsunade reaches out, extending a placating hand toward the dark–haired shinobi, but he turns on his heel and shoves Kakashi out of his way. He knows something is not right and is determined to find the problem and it's apparent cause, and Naruto sends a chair skidding across the wood floor as he rushes out too, leaving Kakashi and Tsunade to stare silently after them. Wondering just how much they will be able to take, _if _they can take this. Silently wishing, hoping against hope as not to bring those very abstract feelings any higher than need be, that this will somehow end happy, with a voluminous pink bow tying together all the problems and presenting the world with a present. See here, this is what miracles are, and they_ do_ happen.

The wind rustles, brushing petrified faces of the silent, the mourning, the older and the wiser. It says they are kidding themselves, and these children will try to justify the cruelties as much as they are able to.

It says mockingly:

They have no chance.

* * *

--

_But "I love you" means I only __**care**_

_And "I'll protect you" means __**forever**_

_For that is how we speak._

_--_

A seemingly random selection of shinobi occupies one wall of the chairs with the squishy cushions; they are absorbed in their own tasks. So it gives them a proper shock when one of their fellow ninja comes positively hurtling through the steady flow of patients, nurses and visitors making their way up the corridors. His sandals echo on the spotless tile and disinfectant stings noses not familiar nor used to the pungent aroma–

The squawk of a new intern sounds through the reception area, and as her papers flutter to the ground the dark–haired shinobi curses but thoroughly manages to ignore her as he sticks his head over the counter, leaning on it heavily. Fingers white and splayed and shaking as they grip the slippery counter top in dire need of information.

"Where is Sakura's room?" he demands angrily, acting purposefully oblivious to Naruto's trudging form; obviously he is not able to tolerate all that nimble weaving around the expected traffic of hospital hallways.

"Surname, please."

"What?" he snaps, as if her request is unreasonable.

"Haruno," a tall blonde female supplies, having just stepped up to the counter. She jerks her head to toss her ponytail carelessly over her shoulder and looks at Naruto, who finally caught up with Sasuke. She sweeps the back of her hand across her bright blue eyes and swallows noticeably, eyes pleading for some reassurance, maybe for one of them to make the whole incident sound less...serious.

"Room 157, down that hallway," the receptionist states calmly and points down the nearest hallway past the desk. "But you are required to have an adult to visit patients in–"

Sasuke takes off so quickly that he nearly knocks another nurse to the floor as he sprints in the direction indicated; Naruto follows close behind as Ino furiously slams her fist on the counter and curses under breath at their unruly behavior.

"–that...wing..." the receptionist finishes quietly as her gaze softens a bit.

Like the frightening twist and rhythm of a needle and thread, weaving patterns and colors of imagination's own accord, without the required focus of other trying tasks. Footsteps pound against the solidity and foundation but do nothing to reassure his racing mind from separating the plausible 'what if's?' from the outlandish distortion that the mind feeds the conscious in times of crisis. The world is just a colorless, soundless, nonexistent blur as it is barely seen, racing past and accompanied by a wretched cry here, a pungent, tangy scent of alcohol there, beds with the dying and the doomed scattered everywhere. Whether in rooms or not they do exist and press upon his mind so painfully as he continues...

Embrace this goal and let it feed. No chance.

He passes it and curses once he realizes his mistake and this causes Naruto to stop his momentum by slamming into his back. Pushing the dark–haired boy away, the blonde runs over the threshold and lets out a cry that comes straight from the depths of his wavering heart:

"SAKURA!"

Sasuke now clutches the door frame as they observe her, unable to take their eyes away.

Expecting...what? A mangled face, a raging, screaming insanity held by nurses?

Like a joke: All is so calm and light and fair. Pale colors of sea green (the tile), coral (the walls), sheets and cabinets and pictures of pretty things like shells and flowers in frames (white and cream and that funny color they call 'nuetral'; or maybe they're all the same). The sun is now setting, casting shadows and bending prisms across the floor while ivory, carefully stitched curtains blow, the ghosts of foreshadowing meant to be taken seriously, but at this moment were not.

"Sakura–chan?" Naruto repeats tentatively, sounding puzzled.

Together they step gingerly over the threshold, as if she could feel their movements, as if they were somehow connected and bound by one single soul. She does not respond. Breezes have reached her too, gently blowing the strands of her soft pink locks behind her shoulders as she sits cross–legged upon the slightly rumpled sheets. Back to them, she does not seem aware that they are in her room.

"She's...deaf!" Naruto bursts out and looks at Sasuke, waiting for his confirmation. The latter shakes his head slowly and then his eyebrows furrow as Sakura's head turns slowly, fixing the boys with one jade eye.

Silence.

"I hope you do not mean me," Sakura whispers, smiling just a little.

"SAKURA–CHAN!" Naruto yells, running into the room and he startles her considerably as he throws his arms around her.

Sasuke quietly takes a step forward and surveys her with sharp, narrowed eyes. She _seems_ okay.

But then he notices her expression and rushes up to Naruto, yanking his shoulder painfully to pry him away; Sakura withers, bringing her arms up to her chest and shrinking into herself like a very shy little girl. Round jade eyes stare up at the two boys in confusion as her lips trembles and she rubs her arms with opposite hands, as if removing the feeling of Naruto's embrace. Sasuke notices the bumps rising upon her delicate, ivory skin and thinks to shut the window, but does not for he is preoccupied with that look on her face. That frightened, timid stare, an young animal thrust out on it's own with little warning and no instinct whatsoever, that expression...so unlike her.

She seems to recover from incident and shrugs it off, glancing warily at the blonde and she turns back to face the setting sun. She squints, so she is obviously not blind, but they still wonder what this serious problem is.

They take seats carefully on either side of her; the mattress dips and she looks to each side and smiles, such a different smile than they both remember. So plain and vague and...not Sakura.

"Such a nice picture," she whispers quietly, running her cold fingertips over the spotless glass, over the faces of her teammates and her former sensei, smiling that strange smile in thought.

"Naruto!"

Naruto and Sasuke turn to see the somber expression of their former teacher beckoning them both, but Sakura seems content with the picture and does not respond in any way. Sasuke wonders why Kakashi doesn't greet Sakura, but lets the thought slide as Naruto grumbles and hops off the mattress.

"Why do I have to talk, why not Sasuke–teme?" Naruto mutters, twisting his lips into a pout and dragging his feet; Kakashi does not react angrily in the slightest as Sasuke turns back to the window.

"Because...you can handle this...better than he can."

Sasuke stiffens in offense and confusion. Handle what?

Sakura stills runs her thin, shaking fingers over the firm, solid glass and keeps that same smile on her face. Forcing herself to find amusement when she does not comprehend nor have the means to. She pauses suddenly; her breaths are mechanical and do not collaborate with the rest of her body's actions, and she strikes Sasuke as being...fake.

"Why are you in this picture with me?" she asks quietly, squinting at the framed photograph as though her eyes have mistaken her. A frown makes it's way across her pale but pretty countenance as she brushes hair from her vision and furrows her eyebrows in the same way, but this still isn't...her...

"That's Team seven," he states plainly, glancing at her warily. "Naruto," he points to indicate whom he is speaking about. "Kakashi..."

"'Kakashi' is nice," she says blandly, as though someone prodded her and reminded her to speak occasionally. "I met him."

This comment doesn't sit well with Sasuke and he turns to stare at her, but her eyes are still roaming the brightly colored photo; amazingly, those colors never seemed to fade.

"That's me," he says slowly, pointing to his younger self in the picture. "And that's–"

"She's so beautiful," Sakura interjects, pointing at the pink–haired kunoichi. "She was on your team? You're so lucky," she gushes, smiling that fake smile again and

_God damn it that's driving me crazy!_

Voices rise to a din from the corridor, and Sasuke's mind is sluggish. To understand. To realize.

"What is her name, oh you _must_ tell me," she pleads, tilting her head and peering up at him with those sparkling jade eyes that now, when he looks carefully...

His breath is stolen at the startling difference...it's impossible...

And it hits him like the most painful punch in the stomach.

"Please tell me," she breaths, her innocent eyes begging for the answers, as if he possessed them all and was something worth staring at this intensely.

She lets out a high–pitched squeak as he grabs her shoulders furiously and tries to quell his violent shakes, wracking his entire body and _this can't be true, this is NOT true, this just isn't possible _and she squirms a bit in his powerful grasp, lower lip beginning to tremble as he peers into her eyes and she is frozen and _she's fine there's nothing wrong with her she's fine_ and those conversing (more like arguing) in the hallway will stop and listen when he says, loudly and in that same pitchy yet guttural tone: "Sakura!"

Fall silent, grace. Listen to this sound, not so sweet.

Sakura stares up at him for a long moment before slowly relaxing in his tight grip. "Sakura," she repeats slowly, letting the name fall tenderly off her cherry lips and dance in the air, a mockery.

Sasuke's breath is caught in his throat as she catches him off guard and throws her arms around his neck, smiling that same damn strange smile and the wind blows her locks teasingly against his face. Stony. He doesn't have anything to say, and when Kakashi finally speaks the diagnosis he doesn't need to listen because he has figured this serious problem out, he understands.

But he doesn't know what to do.

She hugs him still, on her knees and lets him fall into the most dangerous, intrusive and introverted silence as she whispers:

"_Sakura_. Such a beautiful name...I wish..."

"Sakura," Naruto whispers, so very far away, jealous and insecure and scarred.

Sasuke remains silent, clutching at the back of her hospital nightgown to keep himself from falling as she finishes:

"...I wish it were _mine_."

* * *

Memory Loss. 


	3. Manifest ::

Review. Catatonic.

* * *

Chapter 3: Manifest

---

_I am the odd one out._

_My eyes watch the routine play as always, this redundance._

_A little part of me is crying for some reassurance._

_I'm looking at you through this _

_Opaque glass..._

_---_

Inhale.

Hold. Two seconds. Don't let the rhythm fail.

She may fall apart.

Exhale, slowly, through the nose.

Pause.

Repeat.

Her chest rises mechanically up and down as her jade eyes, circular pieces of stained glass, dart from object to person in no particular order. All is strange and so unfamiliar. The couch on which she sits, knees drawn up to her chest and chin resting upon them; the pictures on the small tables and the ornaments on the mantel of the fireplace; the usual bickering that she used to endure and try to prevent and sometimes join in. She doesn't know it, she doesn't recognize it, and it's closing in on her muddled mind like stalking defenseless, innocent prey.

Lying in wait, in foreign territory.

"Well what do you think we should do, Mr. 'I'm too cool to do anything but stand around–"

"Shut up, Naruto, I'm telling you to think _before_ you open your big mouth!"

The blonde kyuubi vessel folds his arms, quite obviously mocking the dark–haired shinobi with relish. Seeming unconcerned, the latter blinks slowly but straightens, his tall frame effectively towering over his companion. Staring down, he hisses:

"I know it's not easy for you, but be sensitive."

Cerulean eyes flashed in offence. Face contorted in a fox–like snarl, he bares his teeth as he shoves his face in Sasuke's.

"You turned your back on _us_, walked out on _us_, rejected our help and left Sakura on a park bench when anyone could have waltzed up and taken her, or worse! And a lot of other stuff! And now you're preaching to _me_ about being _sensitive_? Well you know what, teme, you have a 'lotta nerve!"

Her eyes watch them, their body language and their lips that speak so many sounds. Are they friends? Enemies? Whom did he leave on a park bench? Questions that have answers that are waiting to be pulled back out. Traumatic regression leaves her lost in a dream.

She whimpers, burying her face in her knees and tightening her grip.

As one, their heads whirl around to see her body vibrating with fear and distress.

"Look what you're doing, you're making her upset!" Naruto snarls, eyes narrowed in anger. "You're going to make her caton...catin...cat–ion–ic!"

"Idiot, it's_ catatonic, _and she's _already_ not speaking, or moving much, for that matter–"

"Well, how could she get a word in edgewise with you two bickering?" Kakashi interjected sharply, stepping over the threshold. "Both of you, on the couch."

"You can't order me–"

"No, but I_ can_ force you. Sit, Naruto, you too Sasuke."

The blonde grumbles and scuffs his foot at the wooden floor, but reluctantly takes a seat upon the couch and turns his gaze to Sakura, whom is sitting in the middle. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, watching him, but not really seeing him. Like looking through glass, seeing everything on the outside.

But the problem was, no one could see in.

Sasuke sinks silently into the cushions on her other side, furtively glancing at her from underneath his ebony locks. She is scared. Wide–eyed, as if something suffocating is closing in on her as the seconds trickle by. Kakashi seems to lose himself for a moment as he leans forward in his chair, gazing intently at the young girl with a considerable softer gaze, while the young boys volley back and forth with their secretive glances at one another. They notice how the other always stares at her when she is not aware, and wonder why. What reason could _he_ possibly have?

When she is hovering over the stove, making sure they have something in their stomach before they leave for a long mission, ignoring the fact that she should have dinner as well. When she is sighing wistfully as she scoops up Naruto's discarded boots and jacket from the stairs, the same place he had left them. When Sasuke lets himself fall asleep against the front door, too stubborn to ask for help up the stairs.

When she sits and pores over folder after folder, medical reports and files, hunched over her desk. One hour. Two hours. Six.

The blonde pops his head in every so often and asks, begs for her to call it a night.

The other doesn't speak, just observes her silently, but his glare is always left burning on the top of her pink head.

She ignores them both.

Every time, all the time, they watch her until she is done. Until she happens to notice their stares. Until she _breaks_.

Abruptly they lock eyes and do not speak to one another, simply glowering until the other looks away. Unfortunately, they both are stubborn as the day is long, and they do not relent.

"I know that this is difficult for both of you," Kakashi begins in a careful voice, not letting the volume rise above a loud whisper; he does not look at them, but watches sadly as Sakura raises her head, like a child, to find the source of the sound. In his short pause they watch the girl as she slowly mimics his facial expression.

"You have to be gentle with her. She has been severely traumatized and is prone to react in ways that you may not expect. She is...like a child now. See, how she watches my face? She is trying to understand my emotion and relate it to her own feelings."

Sakura sniffles a bit and her lip begins to tremble as she watches his somber expression; her lips part ever slightly and Sasuke remembers that look all too well, her hesitance and dire need to pick just the right words, so she would not upset him. Or anyone. Always choosing them carefully as not to offend.

"A...child?" Naruto repeats, and Sakura suddenly focuses on him, watching his lips move and becoming frustrated. Her eyes dart to Kakashi, then to Sasuke, to Naruto, to the ceiling, the floor. Cherry lips silently mouth her question that her voice cannot handle just yet: Where? She cannot find the child anywhere, and it confuses her.

And it kills them to watch her feel this way. Helpless and lost.

"She will have to learn everything again, slowly and with practice."

Sakura returns her attention to her sensei, expression resolutely blank as her eyes run over the lines of his face, contours and creases from age. Little does she know how much he has aged in these past few days, of his worry that rests snug in his stomach alongside the burning guilt.

"There's no way we can teach her _everything_!" Naruto protests loudly; her eyes snap to attention once more and becomes startled, shrinking away. As she leans into Sasuke, her head turns quickly to look at him too, afraid of his reaction.

"I had a long conversation with Tsunade," Kakashi continues, voice low and soothing. He is careful not to upset her. "She said that it is very possible for certain things, certain sounds or memories, to jog Sakura's memory. So anything that you two think might help, please do it. I can only help so much, but...I haven't known her for as long as Ino or Iruka has, so make sure to speak with them too."

Kakashi does not expect Sasuke to nod or otherwise acknowledge his words. He does, however, and murmurs something indistinct to himself. None of the others press to discover what those words were.

"Kakashi–sensei," Naruto interjects, letting the pink–haired girl lean on his shoulder tentatively, "I heard once that if you shock or scare someone, it can bring back their memory too."

Perhaps it is for a lack of insensitivity, or maybe just his typical qualms with Naruto's obnoxious words. Or is it something else? Sasuke makes a quiet noise of dissent, whistling slightly through his nostrils as the jounin shakes his head solemnly.

"Not in this case. Emotionally and mentally, she is–"

"Weak," Sasuke interjects coldly, as he taps his fingers impatiently on the arm of the couch. He seems to be greatly annoyed at this point and Kakashi takes a moment to survey the scene in silence, his calculating eye watching the not–so–subtle reactions taking place. Sakura mutters to herself quietly as she watches the dark–haired shinobi in slight fear, slight pity. Now her fingers reach for him, shaking, and he stiffens under the touch he is expecting.

Not willing to speak, she places her hand gently on his forearm while her expression remains wary, as though waiting for the negative reaction.

Surprisingly, he does nothing. Maybe only _Naruto_ is noticing just how much his friend's shoulders relaxed and how unusually comfortable he seems with it. It is an illusion, that fleeting glance to her small, fragile hand comprised of ivory bones, adorned with ivory layers of skin.

It is not worth noticing or noting, the avenger's barely–there twitch of the lips. There is no sensitivity.

It. Is not. A smile.

The blonde casually throws his rival a glower and Sasuke humbly accepts it with a sneer, but this time, it has a reason and they both know it is true.

"'Stable' was the word I had in mind," Kakashi says, frowning disapprovingly at the bluntness and deciding to ignore the silent tension between them. It is not the place nor time. "Notice she has been speaking less and less. There is the possibility of catatonia and..."

Sasuke knows what is coming.

Naruto knows, but pretends he doesn't.

"...she may slip into a coma if her abnormal introverted behavior persists."

Naruto doesn't understand_ that_, though. "What?"

"What do you _think_, idiot?" Sasuke snaps abruptly, every muscle in his lean frame tensing as his fingers tap in the unnerving, fast–paced rhythm on the arm of the couch. Cerulean eyes locked on considerably darker ones and they hold the uncomfortable gaze until he understands.

"Too violent a shock may upset her, ultimately worsening her condition, not improving it. Otherwise, try anything you can think of."

Kakashi rises from his seat and stares down at them, seeming so much older than he is, so much older than he should be. He has no children, yet as he watches the expressions and the glares and the jealousy that he never thought he would see, he may decide to consider them close. "I'll be dropping by later, too."

"Bye, Kakashi–sensei," Naruto says softly, and Sasuke nods in minimal content. Sakura remains silent between them, one thin hand on Naruto's, the other still resting gently on the avenger's forearm.

A tense moment commences. Something ripples in the darkness of her mind, so innocent and incomprehensible, and rises to the surface with swift buoyancy, eager to be spoken. Something simple that she remembers is customary, even if she does not understand the reason.

"Goodbye, Kakashi." Monotonous, flat, and the ripples subside. That is all she has.

The jounin nods solemnly and crosses the wooden floors with silent footsteps and a stony expression. He turns the knob slowly, as are the rest of his actions; opening the door, stepping over the threshold and shutting it quietly behind him has never seemed like such a chore.

He feels a little empty.

Emotional pieces missing, hidden.

He will never admit it: He misses hearing "Sensei", even if it is only once.

---

_She's locked inside with a key,_

_Drowning temporarily_.

_The sign states she will come back soon,_

_But they all hum a lilting tune,_

_Distracting them from the virulent truth._

_Oh!_

_Right._

_She's in there...somewhere._

_---_

Whimpers.

_Cling, cling,_

Whimper.

Frowning, they turn from their quiet argument at the stovetop (both of them are extremely inexperienced with cooking ) and turn to see her tapping the metal utensils nervously against each other. The sounds calms her somewhat, but glassy eyes are staring at the wooden floor, hopelessly lost as she lets her head shake slowly, back and forth.

Naruto tosses the spoon into the pot, splashing boiling water on his companion and steps forward, arms out wide. "Sakura?"

She responds to her name like a newborn, staring wide–eyed at him, and abruptly lets the silverware clatter to the floor, lip trembling. Like a child struggling to do something right despite all odds, because it is impossible. You cannot jump off of the roof and fly. The bird, no matter how much care you give it, will _not_ live.

"She's...confused..." Sasuke mutters, more to himself than anything, for it is so painful to watch her break down.

The blonde scrambles to pick up the utensils, hurriedly protesting as her eyes begin to sting with tears. "Sakura–chan, it's okay! Look! I'll help you, just please don't cry, it's okay."

"I...can't _do_ it," she whispers, each word taking an effort. Embarrassment makes its way onto her pretty features while Sasuke watches her eyes closely.

So empty.

So glassy.

Not Sakura.

The blonde smiles, presses the metal silverware into her hands, and keeps his fingers over hers protectively as he directs her hand to each plate, nudging her to drop a spoon. Around the table again, a fork; she lets go of him to straighten one of the forks, then lets him take her hand again. It is like a game, they are setting the table for just the three of them, unless Kakashi appears for dinner.

"You forgot napkins," Naruto comments, not realizing how much the simple mistake affects her until her face starts to crumple once more. Overwhelmed and feeling useless. She sniffles and Sasuke turns from the stove with an annoyed glower on his face, directed at the blonde whom is looking nervous at the thought of her tears again.

"Stop that." His staccato command is littered with a warning.

"Stop what?"

"I'm sorry," Sakura interjects, shuffling her feet.

"It's fine," Sasuke replies quietly.

"No,_ I'm_ sorry, Sakura–chan," Naruto amends quickly, grabbing a handful of napkins and pressing them into her hands. "Here, I'll help you."

Sasuke cannot help watching as the normally clumsy boy helps her with the napkins, possessing such unusual patience. He messes up occasionally and feels bad that he is succeeding in confusing her a bit; nevertheless, the avenger glares on, not able to take his eyes away as they move about the table awkwardly, Naruto struggling to keep her calm. She smiles at him, wanting reassurance; he smiles back.

"SHIT!"

_**Cling.**_

A plate is in pieces on the floor and Sakura's expression is stricken; Naruto looks confusedly at his rival, whom is holding his hand and gritting his teeth.

"Fucking stove."

The blonde claps his hands over her ears and Sakura looks up at him, puzzled. "She doesn't need to hear that language, Sasuke!"

"Are you...okay?" Sakura asks disjointedly, removing the hands from her ears.

"Fine."

"Are you...sure?"

"Yes. Go sit down."

"..."

"I wasn't paying attention. My fault. Sit."

She complies meekly, folding her hands in her lap and not daring to intrude upon the boys' conversation at the stove.

Five minutes later, after a few more choice curses and explaining what spaghetti was to Sakura, they take their seats and eat in silence.

It becomes clear that she has lost her dexterity or maybe just the prior knowledge of how to eat the thin pasta. Huffing in the thick silence broken only by Naruto's obnoxious slurping, Sasuke notices her frustration. She sighs. She throws the fork down at the plate and the blonde finally looks up to realize the problem, while Sakura pushes the food away and presses the heels of her hands against her eyelids. Little worry lines etched themselves upon her forehead, lines that Sasuke had not seen for a very long time. Not even her apprenticeship puts her through this much stress.

Slowly, Sasuke reaches across the table and picks up her discarded fork. She does not look up until he silently holds the fork, now holding perfectly twirled spaghetti on it, a couple of inches from her mouth.

Silence.

Naruto glowers.

Coaxing her through hesitance with just his dark eyes, he nods ever so slightly at the utensil hovering in front of her parted lips. Leaning forward, she lets him press it to her mouth so she can taste the sauce, and after another moment enduring his stare, she opens her mouth wide.

Sasuke doesn't realize his expression, but Naruto sees.

The pink–haired girl chewed slowly and carefully, and also painfully mechanically. Chew. Chew. Slight grin. Swallow.

Of her own accord, she lifts a napkin from the table and sweeps it across her lips deliberately, sighing quietly in relief, for she knows that she has done something right. Her fragile, porcelain face lights up beautifully in the dim kitchen with a smile that is the most obvious decoration. And that smile isn't fake.

It is hers.

"Thank you, Sasuke–kun."

He remembers that. The suffix. He has not heard it for days.

Naruto pretends again, that the corners of Sasuke's mouth did not turn up, did not twitch towards what could have been a smile. _Why is it bothering me?, _he asks himself as the dark–haired shinobi presses the fork into her hand and lets her attempt to eat on her own, but his calloused fingers are firm and are protective as they trail off of hers. Even though he acts as though it was not a big deal, he lowers his head and watches her succeed in feeding herself a bite of spaghetti without once slipping up.

He smirks. Not his pretentious smirk that he throws Naruto's way, but his satisfied smirk that displays the emotions, like pulling teeth. The smirk that is substituted, used to hide his smile.

The blonde doesn't realize how angrily he is glaring at the avenger, nor how obvious his jealousy is. It is only bad luck that Sakura can sense the tension. She is in tune with those things, if not many others. Like a child. Like an animal.

Not a person.

Abruptly, she shoves her chair out and runs out of the kitchen, not looking back at the two shinobi now staring stonily at each other from opposite sides of the table.

"_Now _you care."

"..." Narrow, eyes. Be shallow, inhales and exhales.

"When we almost _lose_ her!"

Tense.

"_NOW _YOU CARE?"

Pushes his chair out. Ignores the blonde almost too easily.

"When have I ever let her become injured, Naruto?" he inquires in the silence, hands clenched at his sides, the only clear display of his anger. "I've never wanted her hurt–"

"_All of a sudden_, you start caring enough." The kyuubi vessel stands also, looking ready to spit upon the wooden floor. "So_ now_, we matter? _Now_, she matters? A little late to jump in, bastard!"

"Shut up."

"What the hell are_ you_ going to do about it?"

**BONG.**

Naruto swears furiously and clutches his thick skull, kicking the pot Sasuke had thrown at his head. The latter is standing with his feet apart, hands hovering as if deciding whether to pull out a weapon or wrap them around his throat.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"Shut up," is his cold reply, and his onyx, glittering eyes narrow as they dart around. Crosses the kitchen, shoves past Naruto and heads down the hallway to the bedrooms. Angry, prowling footsteps upon laminated, wooden floors.

Her bedroom door is shut and locked, and no sound echoes from within.

Raising his knuckle, he knocks gently and waits.

Nothing.

He needs no further initiative to easily snap the doorknob, breaking the lock. As he steps into the room, it is so obvious, within seconds–

Naruto shoves his way past and walks all the way into the middle of the unnaturally tidy room.

Frozen.

Sasuke has really been hating the curtains lately, since all they have done for the past two days is flutter like innocent angels and pretend to complete the caricature of peace.

Flutter. Ripple.

The window is wide open for a reason.

And Mister Obvious is also one of Sasuke's greatest annoyances, and he has just secured his spot on the list as he stammers:

"S–she's gone!"

* * *

It's a whirl of faces. 

With no discernable graces.

And no one knows her name.

Through crowds of people she sprints in fear of nothing that anyone can see; the horrors of her mind torture her relentlessly.

No destination, no temptation, no direction.

Fear of the external is strenuous enough.

Fear of the internal is a _disease_.

---

_So what do I do..._

_When I am the cause of every problem,_

_And only time will heal it?_

_But I have no time..._

_For that very thing forces it to manifest._

**Manifest.**

---

* * *


	4. Caveat ::

I missed this story so much. SO MUCH. Please review.

* * *

Chapter 4: Caveat

--

_And the tension leaps and bounds._

_For the blame is simultaneous_

_So the redolent atmosphere billows like_

_Those implicating curtains that lie._

_--_

"SAKURA-CHAN!"

He scrambles ungracefully in pursuit of the open window. Clutching it with his shaking hands and white knuckles and hoping, praying to some unknown deity that she was not far.

Of course, she is nowhere in his sight and of _course_, his companion is struggling for some serenity.

Uchiha Sasuke's fist hits the door frame without pretense, crushing the blood vessels of his pretty, pale skin against the wood. Hurt. It feels great. Relieves no burden, and tauntingly feeds his anger.

"Idiot."

"_I'm_ the idiot? You're the one who started throwing things!"

"You shouldn't have opened your mouth," the dark-haired shinobi hisses, some muscle in his lip curling out of spite. Displaying, in a manner so dangerously quaint, a tolerant calm that normally is the arrogant masquerade for his sensitivity.

A situational irony: It is intriguing that men, so paradoxical in demeanor, hold a common fear; so this plays like an almost sickeningly overemotional drama.

"Sasuke." His mutter is serious in intent. "… What do we _do_?"

Fist driving deeper cracks into the wood as the Uchiha's body contemplates calmly, and his mind writhes in hurried thought. Occurring again, this surreal deviation from everything normal and routine, the _get up, eat breakfast, train, mission, train, spar, dinner _that governs his days. He quells some unintelligible pain in his stomach as he remembers just how involved she is in their routines, _making breakfast because neither of us cook, getting us up for missions when we're exhausted from the night before, and her voice is irritatingly loud._ He remembers all the familiarities, _doing the idiot's paperwork, since he whines about it, not to mention his laundry, _and damn!, it hits him again, _making sure I don't step two feet into the house without taking off my boots, strange woman, not letting one scratch or wound get past her, and I've tried-_

He cannot ignore the fact that she is simply gone. His life is usually simple, despite his detailed, traitorous history because she is always right there, picking up the pieces he does not remember to take on his way out. That he feels he should not pick up, and he is too guilty to convince himself.

Little things, little undeserved luxuries.

Sasuke's glittering, coal eyes rise to observe Naruto clutching the frame of the window, head still extended, as if she will reappear.

"Stop hanging out the window, _idiot_," Sasuke bites out, tone clipped and shaking, barely containing. Let's go."

He pulls his blonde head into the room, surveying Sasuke with glaringly sharp, cerulean eyes.

Like brittle frostbite.

Whirls around. Demands. "Go _where_?"

Sasuke turns his back coldly upon his companion and stalks down the hallway with heavy, threatening, absolutely menacing footsteps. Like a child's parade of contentious stomping in which the more damage done, the more powerful the noxious frustration conveyed from the emotionally retarded. Perhaps at this point the frequent disruptions in his life were taking a painful toll, what with having his goal promptly ripped from his fingertips, so eager for blood, then being dragged home unceremoniously, and without pretense.

In the shadowed hallway, he contemplates.

Everything is ripped away, and he can almost hear them saying, wagging their presumptuous finger, _"Ah-ah-ah!"_

"Naruto? Sasuke?"

A loud crack resonates throughout the house as the blonde's thick skull collides with the picket-white window frame, and Sasuke half-turns to better hear the authoritative addressing in his regard. As his companion's footsteps sound closer, increasingly panicked, the dark-haired man lets his back rest against the wall while he struggles to gather some sort of justifiable and cogent reasoning to use in his defense. There is none. He will present his superior with empty palms, decorated in bruises that procure no sympathy.

"NARUTO! SASUKE!"

The aging jounin comes around the corner. In a manner ridiculously asinine, the blonde joins the Uchiha and only sets in stone, the truth; painted, skewed pell-mell upon their faces.

Sensei halts. Minutes' of hours' of days' of years' experience forebodes him prudently. He sees not two shinobi, nearly men, standing before him; they are but two young boys with scattered priorities while mending broken hearts and of course, possess the toiling hatred that knows not _one_ bound. Do they comprehend severity? Likely not. They _do_ know that something is missing.

Yes: Men of old pain, too.

"Where is she?"

They do not dare to lie to him, lest they incur his wrath. They receive it anyway.

Fingers curl under collars, so tight.

**SLAM.**

"Didn't I say to _watch_ her?" he demands, one eye surveying them angrily, intently. No answer. Tightening his grip, he presses them by the necks, against the wall.

Sasuke refrains from speaking; Naruto immediately stammers, "K-Kakashi-sensei! We-"

"No. There's _no_ excuse, Naruto, nor _you_, Sasuke."

Pause.

"What did you two… do?"

"Well Sasuke-teme-"

The dark-haired man growls, hissing, "Don't blame this on me."

With surprising strength, the jounin that has watched them grow from children to Chuunin yanks them forward and slams them again, silencing their biting remarks.

"You can provide excuses later," Kakashi says coldly, disappointment heavy in his tone and narrowed gaze. Grip loosening slightly, he continues. "This is extremely dangerous. I'll alert Tsunade, and send out ANBU to find her."

"You can't send ANBU! You said it yourself, she might panic!" Naruto proclaims loudly, twisting incorrigibly beneath his superior's hold.

"We don't have a choice, Naruto. The officers and Tsunade may be the only people who can handle her. If she does panic and uses her strength without thought… there's no telling what she will do."

"And talking to her won't work?" Sasuke inquires quietly, eyes dark.

Kakashi glares at them, and they silence, once again.

"I can't trust you two with her."

The little pride left in them, stirring feebly, reels as if struck. His disappointment stings.

"If you two can't remember the most _basic thing_ I pounded into your heads, and use it when it matters the most…"

A dramatic vocal finale is unneeded. His disapproval, and the mere thought of what could occur, is enough toiling punishment.

Roughly the jounin releases them, disappearing without any further words.

The blonde slides to the floor, eyes tearing from the strangling hold, while his companion swallows noticeably, carefully feeling his throat.

"Sakura-chan." His murmur is pained and the name is familiar. The entire concept, foreign.

_She's gone._

_Sakura-chan's gone._

_Lost._

_We lost her._

Watery blue eyes glance to the right, watching him. Watching him remain thin-lipped and his eyes narrow at the floor, mere silts shrouded by his dark locks.

Pile on the guilt, now.

_He lost her._

_He never used to care._

_He lost her._

She is out there, alone.

_She'll get hurt._

_She'll hurt someone._

_Sakura-chan._

"Sakura-chan."

Some indiscernible groan is heard from the Uchiha after he says her name.

His friend is sorry.

Though he still cannot deny the voice in his head, viciously hissing.

_I hope it hurts, Sasuke. _

* * *

"Rain."

Fingers pluck petals delicately.

"Rain."

Repetition. Boredom tears the life from a blossom bound for death, so the guilt is significantly less, to kill the dying. A prevention of further suffering, is it not?

"Go a_way_," the young woman exhales, rolling her eyes and tossing the bare stem to the tiled floor. She groans and leans forward, face resting absurdly prostrate upon the cutting counter, whilst her companion contemplates the childhood rhyme.

"It isn't raining yet," says the impish brunette, chocolate eyes surveying the sky with dismay. "But it's gonna soon."

"As soon as I need to go outside, it'll start," the blonde groans. Clad in an off-white apron; long locks tied up, expression petulant.

Then, she appears.

Lost in a dream so enveloping and real: Wide eyes dart from building to creaking cart wheel to child to the leaden and somber sky; thin, sickly arms wrap around tightly. Her stance is cautious and her posture, bent. Lack of confidence, lack of comprehension, wholly fear.

She stands in the middle of a crowded street. Amid people heading home lest they be caught in the rain; so she is frozen, a clear, stricken face among the blurry mass.

"Ino?" The brunette's voice is a curious lilt and the addressed is taken aback.

"She's not supposed to be alone," the blonde mutters, walking around the spotless counter to stand at Tenten's side.

The pink-haired girl meticulously considers her surroundings, seeing everything and nothing. Parents and children. Her entity and mind is failing her at this crucial point, procuring forth not one friend to clasp her hand, which wavers in the smothered, respective darkness.

Stricken, lost.

"I thought--she was at the hospital?" speaks the weapons mistress--voice, a delicate hush.

"I thought so too…"

Even through the glass, created in such a way that the clearer view is from the inside, Ino can see that her childhood friend is not breathing. It pains but does not require a remedy for necessity, but out of love.

**TING!**

Tenten's arm reflexively grasps the handle lest the door shut again, opening it wide again to take after Ino, who is running into the street; her tall blonde ponytail bobs through the typical traffic of the market street, gracefully dodging the a helter-skelter movement of last-minute shoppers whom deserve an apology that she simply does not have the time to give.

Someone needs her.

Savior:

Breathing shallow, the pink-haired girl lets her wrist be taken, lets her body be guided –albeit with less grace—through the people; the scene swirls in front of jade eyes, wide with terror, a scene of unfamiliar faces of entities that do not know her, and she does not know them.

Emerging from the bustling mass, Ino lowers her friend to the ground with care, for the look upon the medic's face is that of something fragile, about to break. Only then does she relent, hands and knees upon the stone, and inhale gratefully. It does not last.

Sucking in again she gazes up fearfully at the lean blonde, eyes clouded.

"What are you doing out here, Sakura?" she demands, expression somber. The girl continues staring and is unresponsive to her name, which startles her companion.

"_Sakura?_" she repeats with an impatient snap in her voice. The brunette appears at her side and gives her a foreboding look, a silent instruction to tread carefully."She won't even respond to her name!" Ino chokes out, directing her gaze away. "She doesn't know her _name_!"

Tenten raises her head to the sky, settling into thought as the clouds continue to mull ominously; she bites her lip. Sakura's chest heaves as she dissolves into tears, reaching back with her arms, covering her exposed neck as she slumps onto the ground.

"I think we should take her back to Tsunade-sama," Tenten says firmly. "And quickly," she adds, glancing at the grey clouds making their unsubtle way into the heart of the city.

"NO!"

Both girls stare at the cowering figure upon the stone, and they are taken aback by her refusal.

"No—please—no--don't send me back there--they're _fighting_-- they're always _fighting_--" Sakura whimpers, breast heaving with sobs fit to burst.

They are silent, puzzled.

"Always fighting—both of them—so angry--"

An exchanged look, fleeting. Occurs and passes within the same frightened moment between the ostracized, the cruelly damned.

"Sakura," Ino begins, "_Who_ is fighting?" The blonde falls to her knees, to her level.

The pinkette continues to shake her head, breath catching her throat over and over and over, ruthless spasms obstructing her throat. Which has no words to speak anyway, because her thoughts are unable to be formulated; thus, she struggles, and Ino's patience drains.

"Ugh, SAKU_RA_!" she shrieks, wringing her hands. Malice contorts her pretty face, brightens her cerulean eyes, brings forth tears of anger and unrivalled frustration. "EXPLAIN!"

"Ino!" Tenten reprimands. "I really don't think she can help it!"

"She doesn't remember anything!" There is a faction of hysteria present. Oh, how painful. Focusing intently upon the medic's face, the blonde demands, in a hiss:

"What's my name?"

"Ino…"

She will not be placated. "What's my name, Saku-_Sakura, look at me_!"

The pink-haired female jumps and shudders like an insular fawn, finally focusing on the angry face centimeters from hers. Pale face draws back and tenses as lips tighten over teeth, while her jade eyes narrow in responsive aggression.

The dangerous whistling of air between teeth, sounds in the silence.

Tenten's angry rebukes are lost on the blonde, who snatches her childhood friend by the front of her shirt and shakes her viciously, startling her. Provoking.

"What's my name, forehead? _What's my name_?" Ino's voice is a screech. She wants answers. She wants recognition of any sort.

She wants memories.

"WHAT IS MY NAME TO YOU?"

_We are animals by nature but_

_You have no cage._

Instantaneous:

Blurs and swinging fists and screeches and cries and slams—

Instinct drives Tenten to throw her body forward; her arms are latched around the medic's waist, holding the brunt of the strength as she strains to reach Ino-

-And coursing with chakra, her arm slashes back to rid the petty obstruction; contacts, for only a second, the side of Tenten's skull.

Before her body is sent rolling across the stone.

(And over and over and over it goes.)

Comes to rest without ceremony, on its side, now an undefined entity.

Sakura seethes--

-She jerks, thrashes in the violent wake of the burst of emotion-

-Confusion finds an outlet, set free-

-One knee pins the blonde's lean frame to the stone without mercy, thin bone driving into her sternum, and her limbs and body curl inward around the point of impact; mockingly delayed, the back of her skull hits the stone; the amnesiac's face is conflicted, a porcelain mirror simultaneously reflecting anger and pain. She cannot differentiate, decipher, understand.

Her knee raises:

**SLAM.**

Greet the ground and take your punishment.

The receiver writhes…

"They're angry, you're angry!" Sakura says.

Ino's body vibrates violently under the graceful, delicate, but nevertheless agonizing hindrance that keeps her body shuddering in internal distress.

Azure eyes narrow in challenging intent. Only a few gathered tears upon the eyelids reveal hurt.

"What… is my name, Sakura?"

_And you used to call me names, chase after everything I wanted, and so many times you got it; you were always prettier than me, skinner than me, classier than me, boys liked you, boys wanted you, not me, and they always did-!_

All she remembers is insecurities.

Face contorted, the addressed raises her frail hand, still managing to deliver, upon her captive, a humiliating-

**SLAP.**

Her voice is the crack of a well-used whip:

"Pig."

* * *

Godaime paces.

Sensei lingers.

Two young men cower accordingly whilst facing the pugnacity of the powerful woman whom now stands behind her desk. Their coincidental savior, a stark miracle; therein lies the necessity of the sturdy wooden furnishing that keeps their necks, cradled by the figurative but nevertheless poised guillotine, safe. Though if it were within her right to throttle them, or perhaps draw out a daunting punishment by channeling chakra through her fingers and slowly choke them, such would be her forte. And her perquisite.

"Honestly, did I _stutter_ in my instruction, or did you simply assume I was inebriated when I gave those clear parameters?"

The blonde woman forestalls Naruto's opening mouth with a swivel of her head. Promptly, the hypothetical follow-up is forced into silence.

"I went against highly regarded medical opinions, _including my own_, to let her go home. Against my own better judgment, because I thought I had two very capable, mature shinobi to care for her," she says, lips moving in a jerky fashion. As though she had many more things to say than the contract of her imperial position would permit.

"There's no waving away the fact that both of you are very prominent, competent shinobi within the ranks."

Naruto leans forward almost pleadingly, as if she will bestow them a saving grace from humiliation; Sasuke generously focuses on her rather than the leg of the desk that he does not doubt might be thrown before the end of this exchange.

"But you both have a bad habit _of ignoring your set orders_!" she yells, and here comes her fist upon the desk-

Shatters a mug, spattering sake across the desktop, the floor, their semi-pallid faces.

Naruto pokes the poised, prey-hungry cougar. "Tsunade-baa-chan… -sama," he adds hastily, vainly attempting to rectify his mistake, that of which was daring to open his mouth. "Is Sakura-chan going to be okay?"

"I honestly don't know, Uzumaki." Curtly spoken surname. Ouch. "And why in all _hell_ did she leave, anyway? I don't see her going off on her own, even in her state of mind, without reason."

Now Kakashi's gaze falls upon them, thrusting them in the scorching spotlight. Seconds pass, and then:

"She became frightened. Distraught. Naruto and I were angry. She could sense it. She ran into her room, and most likely heard us yelling. When I went to see her, tried to open the door, it was locked."

It is the most he has spoken in hours, nearly days. They watch him, hanging on his staccato narrative. The Uchiha has the floor, a heavy blame, and a wrenching guilt that he will never reveal.

Eyes narrowing, he continues.

"I broke the lock and walked in. Her window was open; she was gone."

Abruptly, as though pulled from his seat by twining, marionette-esque strings, he stands, circumnavigates his seat with his eyes to the floor, and, feet propelling him senselessly, seems to almost drift to the window.

Uchiha Sasuke does not drift to destinations. He walks with purpose, even if he is conflicted on whether he has one.

"I said not to disturb her emotionally," Kakashi says harshly; the disappointment makes Naruto wince, and he pulls his knees to his chest. Resting his chin upon them, he indulges in his childhood pose as Kakashi adds, "I thought I made it clear how sensitive she would be; how she would respond."

The Godaime intimidates them; their father-like mentor subsequently shames them.

"I did not think I was asking so much, considering how precious she is to the both of you. Your inattention cannot be helped, however. Just know that when she is brought back, she will be transported to the hospital immediately, and strict doctrines will be set."

"How long will she have to stay in the hospital, Kakashi-sensei?"

It shames them tenfold to see his expression so impassive as he regards the pained, cerulean eyes with something akin to faint antipathy. Sasuke closes his eyes behind his curtain of dark locks which provide an iron curtain for his emotions.

For his sins.

"I don't know."

A silence balloons: a cannonade of thunder tumbles through the sky; Sasuke watches as it spreads, an infectious and ironic, miniscule catastrophe. It brings forth cataracts of water flowing from the troika structure of the roof, obscuring his view.

And she is out in it, somewhere, probably alone.

"Sakura-chan…" Sasuke surveys Naruto from the junction of his vision without moving his pretty head; his normally bright blue eyes are dulled, and the downturn of the corners of his mouth are telltales.

Such decipherable telltales.

A knock startles all present. "Tsunade-sama, permission to enter!"

"Granted," she responds, a bit taken aback at the manner in which the ANBU operative swings open the door before the word had left her lips.

"Tsunade-sama," he repeats, panting, "Yokomae Tashigi, Leader of squad twenty-seven, is here to report that Haruno Sakura, age seventeen, has been located. Area is not yet secure, but she is being watched; we wait for further instructions."

"And I await details," the blonde Sannin replied impatiently.

The operative bows hastily. "Hai, Tsunade-sama. Kunoichi was spotted in _Tekiya Prefecture_, _Kakigori-dori, _in the square with another kunoichi of the same age, Yamanaka Ino. Report states that the young medic assistant was… _'profusely beating the blonde kunoichi , with harmful intent'. _The altercation was mutual, however, as both females were yelling and intending harm upon the other."

"Did you stop Haruno Sakura? She has little to no conscious control of her chakra flow or execution, as well as a lack of mental comprehension of her own situation!" Tsunade's lips are pulled tight.

"As we were given orders not to interfere, cause a scene, or disrupt Haruno Sakura's mental state unnecessarily, we have not; we are poised to, though, at the dispense of the order."

The Godaime sinks into her chair, hand rubbing her temple. "She is my apprentice; she will –if she has not already—surpassed my strength, medical prowess, and tutelage. If she is forced to fight in a defensive mode, there is a chance we could lose operatives. Judging by the situation, it is nearly expected that we will, should it be triggered."

"I think it would be best to talk her down, Tsunade," Kakashi says firmly; as always, he never bothers with the frilly titles and permissions and she lets it pass. "There is no reason to lose operatives, and no reason to further provoke her sensitive mental state."

No hesitation. "I agree, Kakashi. You and I will go." Nodding to her inferior, she commands. "Send along the order to the rest of squad twenty-seven and the two other squads within the perimeters of_ Kakigori-dori that_ no interference is to be executed unless there is a strong possibility of a fatality of either kunoichi. Dismissed!"

The operative nods in assent and quickly disappears, and the grey-haired jounin is already in motion, bound for the door with the distressed Sannin in tow.

"WAIT!"

The kyuubi vessel, forgotten for tense seconds, is now upon his sandaled feet, newly-acquired robes tickling the floor, determined gaze set. "What about us, eh? You two just gonna leave us here? If Sakura needs to be talked to, shouldn't it be one of us who does it? Prob'ly both of us! We're her teammates, we know her!"

"Oh yes, leave her _in your capable hands_?" Tsunade retorts derisively, immediately turning her back. "I gave you two that chance, and now we're in a situation."

Naruto's voice is a snarl: "You can't-"

"Watch me," the Sannin hisses, and strides out the door, deaf to his pleads.

"Kakashi-sensei," Naruto says, sounding defeated, but the aged shinobi sighs and crosses the threshold without another word, taking care to shut the door behind him.

"NO!"

He stands stock-still. Ignores the winds of unreachable deities that rattle the eaves and the cascades that drown the glass of the windows. Seems overcome and lost for only a moment, until the **scritch-scratch-shuffle**of papers captures his attention; Sasuke is rummaging through the files on the desk.

Naruto stares.

The Uchiha's eyes narrow as he repeats the location aloud. "_Tekiya Prefecture_…the outdoor market. _Kakigori-dori_… the square is visible from the Yamanaka flower shop."

After half a moment of contemplation, he crosses to the window and reaches for the metal lock.

"Wait!"

Adopting the expression reminiscent of one so very close to losing his temper, the Uchiha sets his jaw and lets his hand hover near the latch.

"What are you doing, Sasuke?"

Dear kami, is he so dense?

"I'll bet you anything that door is guarded by at least a squad of ANBU operatives. I doubt that in her hurried state of mind, however, she remembered to border the window. Step out that door, you'll never get out," Sasuke says, unlatching the clasp and pushing up the rain-streaked lower half of glass. "In fact, listen."

Murmurings are heard from just beyond the heavy wooden door.

"Case and point," the dark-haired shinobi mutters savagely, placing his hand upon the low window frame.

Naruto casts his eyes to the floor, whispering, "Sakura-chan…"

A slight, but nevertheless present, twitch of crimson eyes. Little sympathy or clever jest is present in the blonde companion's words. "Either quit having a one-track mind, idiot, or stop speaking altogether."

Another imperceptible twitch of the jaw. "I can't hear it anymore."

Cerulean eyes rise and head accompanies, perhaps unconsciously wishing for his presence still, however cruel.

He is gone, the unofficial adage pertaining to imperial Uchiha conduct so subtly illustrated, as Naruto observes the few liquid footprints left in his departure.

_I blame you, and _

_You blame I,_

_If I have to watch her bleed once more-_

_I'll beat you 'til you die._

* * *

She straddles her still, rain beating upon her back.

Pink locks hang lank and sopping and plastered to a pale visage, so contorted and confused. Her lips are white.

Laid out beneath her is the symbol of her childhood insecurities, that girl with the pretty eyes and face and body that was the envy of prepubescent eyes. Those girls so eager to hurtle, with no reservation, into adulthood so quickly, only to wish for past innocence at every painful milestone. Frolicking in the leas and handing her the ribbon and promising her a goal for the uncertain future.

Knee raises-

Comes down again and seems to echo, the shatter of strong, ivory bone lost in a light rumble of thunder and the first petrified, painful scream. The blonde's chest shudders and spasms, eliciting gobs of crimson from her throat that decorate her captor's pale face.

"Pig, huh?" Ino rasps. In spite of her pain her eyes are open, azure piercing jade, a desperate search for Sakura within the body that held no self. "You don't know my real name?"

Sakura stares down at her, lips parted slightly.

"You don't, do you? You can't remember."

"…"

"Why can't you remember more than our childhood?" Ino asks, voice wavering. "_Tell me we had more than that!_"

The medic emits a strangled moan and trails her hands up the sides of her face, tangling in her sodden hair and clutching tight as her eyes seem to regress within their sockets.

"We fought, Sakura-" Ino's arm extends and roughly grabs the front of her shirt, "A lot. But we healed… and I _know_ you can remember me."

With the utmost frantic haste the blonde's hand delves beneath her imbrued apron to seize her crimson savior; the object that she dangles exhaustingly in the pinkette's face. Mistakes are unviable.

The rain's overwhelming cadence is drowned in a stark exposé.

It oscillates and draws her pupils to follow, twin lambs to some undeniable, tantalizing slaughter. Ino watches her friend's face flicker and twitch and process and comprehend. Reality is the contrary.

"I-I-Ino," she whispers in an insular tone, "You have my r-ribbon."

Sakura rummages gauchely in her pockets for the remaining half, and as she presents it the torn edge is clearly thrown into relief for them both.

Shakes commence. Sakura's eyes rove the prey trapped beneath her, and with an unsteady hand she gingerly touches Ino's blood-flecked face. The former winces. "Blood."

Ino coughs and her body curls in response, an illustration of pain.

She touches her face again. "… Ino."

"DON'T MOVE!"

Both kunoichi start. Immediately the perimeter is reinforced by three squads of shinobi, clad in hallowed masks bedecked with varying painted swirls, familiar tattoo facets dulled in the overcast light. Every gaunt veil is inclined in their direction and every muscle is tense and delicately, habitually poised, the glints of a few purposely-flashed kunai visible only to remind them of more, of worse.

Four break their ranks and align themselves at even quad-angles to Tenten's unconscious form; Sakura's eyes jump to observe as they rule the incident non-fatal and depart without order through the trees, through the rain.

"Sakura."

The pleading tone redirects her attention to her sensei, who is surprisingly soft in demeanor and tone. The operatives part for him yet lose no authority, loosen no muscle, bat not one eye.

"Let her go, Sakura."

They stare. Soft grey. Jade.

"I'm not _holding_ her, Kakashi."

Still no suffix: His lips twitch.

"Sakura-"

"Kakashi, she's bleeding!" Sakura wails, tears flowing freely. "She's bleeding bad! Kakashi, Kakashi, oh please fix it!"

"We can fix it, Sakura, if you let her go," he repeats, taking slow steps and reaching them. Kneeling beside them, he sighs. "You have to let me take her."

"Fix it, Kakashi, please!"

The subtle shift of tone, to that tone of the most infinitesimal discontent. "Sakura!"

Sensing it, her anger ripples and her fist shoots out with a dire will to strike him and punish him for that discontent—

The glint of an operative's kunai let fly—

The **SLAP** as he catches her wrist—

She jerks, forcing his hand in the way of the kunai to take the hit; it skins his knuckles; she twists, maneuvering her free fist towards his face as she leaps off of Ino and hurls her light body weight upon her teacher, who simply holds her back as she angers and insults tumble off her tongue. As they wrestle operatives land swiftly to remove the blonde kunoichi from the scene, who weakly protests, "I can't leave her, she needs someone, you can't fight her like this--"

Sakura brings her knee to her chest and extends it, kicking Kakashi in the ribs and prying her wrist from his grip; he rolls backward in slow motion and lands carefully and crouched, cat-like, upon his feet. She kicks again: He catches her ankle and she reacts by twisting and flailing once again, too quickly for him to accommodate her movement, as she contorts her torso so to dig her nails into the stone and pull away, the painful manner in which her leg twists—

She lets out a strangled cry but he has already relinquished her limb, seething, and she pulls herself upon hands and knees. Collapsing on the sodden ground her breathing begins to slow as she shudders, and the sound she makes is akin to a cat's pathetic whimper.

"I think she's done," Tsunade says firmly from behind the squad formations. "Take her in now."

"WAAAAIT!"

Down the street dances an orange flame amidst the lingering fog and mist; his companion, whom blends frighteningly into the shadows of the deluge, bobs alongside him.

As they come within a few feet of the scene, squads of operatives step in front of them to block their view and path. Their faces are pallid and wan, strained in a way that is always deniable. Breathing heavy.

"HEY! C'mon, you gotta move, I gotta see Sakura-chan!"

"Naruto, it's done," Tsunade says dismissively. "And you two…I ordered you not to leave!"

"But…" His voice trails off as he peers around the stately statues that block his vision, watching Kakashi carefully turn the pinkette's body onto its back. Checking meticulously for spinal injury and other perhaps-fatal afflictions, solemn.

Naruto shoves his way past the guards and drops to his knees as Kakashi protests; grasping her shoulders and staring at her pale face, too distraught to see what Sasuke notices—the slender hand that is coursing with chakra and begins to break apart the ground it rests upon, the fingers that curl into a dainty and powerful fist, the violent swing that occurs in one shocking quarter-of-a-second:

Naruto's nose shatters in a grotesque, brilliant explosion of red.

Kakashi is on his feet; she somersaults gracefully around his tall legs and is behind him in an instant, swinging a rigid hand across the back of his neck that he dodges easily but she hounds him furiously, eager to touch her burning hand to his body and let chakra atrophy his innards, which was the prize should she hit him in a soft spot full-on. With no limits or bounds on energy to waste or execute, she has no reservations or knowledge of just how much damage is being caused, to herself or to numerous others.

Chakra tears apart the stone as any substantial object would effortlessly cut a path through water. Sakura begins the mantra again:

"Fix it, Kakashi! Fix her!" she shrieks, a hysterical plead. "Where is she?"

She swings again, but the hand that halts her wrist is not her teacher's.

Before she can so much as blink Sasuke snatches her other one and squeezes, letting her twist and writhe in his grasp and she whimpers and she fights him; she pulls his arm to her and before he can react, sinks her teeth into his forearm and lets her weight bend his limb in a pose, unfamiliar. And her chakra is still out of her control as it intensifies, forming tendrils around their arms as he still holds her, and she thrashes; scalding the top layers of skin as it continues, this suffocating ability that her mind cannot tame—

And as he locks his eyes on hers the chakra binds them, like subservient serpents, like fates forever bound.

"FIX ME!" she shrieks, clutching him and drawing his body to hers. "WHERE AM I? DEAR KAMI, _FIX ME!_"

And she crumples.

He is swift as he catches her, slowly rests on his own knees to quell his own shakes and closes his eyes. Feels his skin tingle and burn as the rain seeps into his wounds. Her blood is warm against his freezing chest.

People try to pry her away. Out of his arms. He does not let go.

He holds her. Against him. Tightly.

Just voices, commands, names with no meaning.

"Please…" she whispers, eyes unseeing as they stare at the desolate sky. They cannot see his face. "Please… someone… fix me."

* * *


End file.
